A Faithful Attendant
by Padfoot Reincarnated
Summary: [Great Expectations] After Pip's arms are burnt at Miss Havisham's, it's up to Herbert to care for his friend. Pip has never had a better nurse. PipHerbert slash.


**I've just had to read this book for school, and I've gotten through it mainly by imagining Herbert and Pip. Charles Dickens just threw in Clara to cover up the fact that Herbert and Pip are zomgsogay. She and Estella are both beards. Anyway, I'd love to hear your comments on this; Dickens fic is pretty tough!**

The first night I returned home after my injuries at Satis House, I was little equipped to do anything other than lie, ever so restless, on my bed. Though I was motionless, my thoughts were wild, as I saw Miss Havisham's tortured face alight with fire, which changed to Estella's and Provis' then Herbert's in an instant.

I suppose I would have cried out, and been utterly miserable, but for the fact that Herbert was constantly at my side. A more faithful attendant has never been known. When it began to grow dark, he prepared me a bowl of soup. As I was wholly unable to feed myself, Herbert spooned each mouthful past my lips. His other hand rested gently on my shoulder, and his thumb brushed rhythmically over my collar-bone. I smiled gratefully at him; he had calmed my nerves, and I thought I might be able to sleep now.

He remained in the chair beside my bedside as I closed my eyes, and his presence was enough to send me to sleep. However, the peace was not to last. The instant I lost my hold on consciousness, I again smelled smoke and burning flesh. My eyes flew open and I sprung up in bed, terrified. The palpitations of my heart were so rapid as to make each beat nearly indistinguishable, though I felt them so distinctly as the blood rushed behind my ears.

Herbert, faithful as he was, was yet at my bedside. As I flew awake in such a terror, he bent down and touched my shoulder, his eyes clouded with worry. "Handel, Handel my dear," he said. His voice was low and soothing, and I clung to his wrist with my injured right hand. I felt myself trembling against his chest, and his mouth was near to my ear as he whispered comforting things. Finally, I was able to release him and sink back into the comforts of my bed. My left arm, which he had bandaged so carefully only a few hours ago, throbbed painfully.

Once I had become more sensible of myself, I thanked him. He smiled, but looked concerned and touched my forehead.

"Shall I call for a doctor?" he inquired. "You seem to have gotten worse, and perhaps require greater skill than mine."

I shook my head and closed my eyes. "I want none but you, Herbert," I told him. I was quite exhausted by my panic, and yet I was reluctant to go to sleep again for fear of what I might see. Instead, I turned to observe Herbert. His face, which had grown so dear to me, was drawn with anxiety and weariness, and yet, meeting my eyes, his countenance grew warm and affectionate.

Momentarily, he spoke. "I was worried when they told me you had been injured," he said, his voice oddly distant. I nodded invitingly, and he continued. "I had on my coat and boots, and was quite ready to ride into the country to see you, when the messenger promised that you would be home sooner than I would arrive—he said it was not serious. All the same, I worried."

He voice was so tight with pain, and his unhappiness so evidently real, that I did what I could to comfort him. "I'm sorry to have worried you," I said. "You see me now—I will make a full recovery in no time, due to your excellent care." I reached out my fingertips into the space between us, and managed to brush his knee. He caught my red, blistered hand in his own, and studied it carefully. His hands were smooth with the salve he had been using to treat my burns, and were cool and comforting against my palm.

He met my eyes again. "You have done nothing to warrant an apology," he told me firmly, and then grew distant again. "When I was younger, I visited my aunt's family in the country one Christmas. Her daughter was about three at the time, and was left unattended while I helped her prepare Christmas dinner. We heard screams—and when we ran to see what was the matter, the child's dress was aflame. She had stepped too near to the fire."

My eyes must have been wide with shock; at least I felt they were. He, who had told me so many of his most intimate secrets, had never spoken of this. "My dear Herbert," I murmured.

"They did everything they could to save the poor little thing," he said. "But it was all for naught. She died on New Year's Day, two months shy of her fourth birthday." He stared directly at the all above my head, and then shook himself as if to banish the foul memories and met my eyes directly. "I feared the same thing would happen to you, Handel," he said. "I thought I would not be able to—we would not have even had a proper goodbye."

I shuddered to imagine poor Herbert, dear Herbert, in our chambers alone, the apartment we had shared all these long years. Herbert, always coming home to silence and loneliness; or later, perhaps, finding a new friend to share the rooms with him. "I am still here," I reassured him firmly, tightening my grip on his hand a little. "You see—you had nothing to fear!"

He smiled at me affectionately, and brushed my hair back from my face. "I should have known," he said. "That you would be strong enough to withstand fire. You _have_ always been stubborn, you dear thing, haven't you? But I would never have told you—you are the closest friend to my heart, Handel," he finished. His voice was strange and nervous, so I smiled up at him as warmly as he was smiling down on me.

"And you to mine, Herbert," I returned. "We have always been the best of friends, have we not? You know I love you dearly."

Any tension that had been in his face disappeared instantly, and his eyes shone so brilliantly that I felt guilty for not telling him before; it gave him such obvious joy. He smoothed his fingers over my forehead, and my eyes closed against his gentle touch.

"Can you sleep now?" he asked me. I nodded, and indeed already felt my awareness beginning to slip. Within minutes I was entirely asleep, with his hand still holding onto mine.

When I woke again, the room was dark. But I had not had any more nightmares, and I felt refreshed, despite the fact that I could not have slept for more than a few hours. I loosed my hand from Herbert's, and used it to push myself into a sitting position. By the dim light coming in from the window, I could make out Herbert, still sitting faithfully beside me. He was hunched over awkwardly, and his face was pale and tired. When my hand dropped from his, he yawned, and his eyes blinked open.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, concerned.

I nodded, concerned in turn for him. "Yes," I said. "With me it is. But you look dreadfully uncomfortable. Head back to your room, and sleep the rest of the night there."

He shook his head, his movements stiff. "I can't, Handel," he explained patiently, as if to a child. "What if you should need me in the night? If you are in pain, and I am not here? No," he continued, his decision made. "I will stay."

I watched him exasperatedly. He called _me _stubborn! "Then, here," I offered. "Share my bed with me."

He jerked his head up stiffly, as if startled. "I—I could not," he protested, holding up his hands.

I nodded encouragingly. "It is quite big enough for two," I said. "You should be quite comfortable here, and would not be worrying the whole night long."

Some of the wild panic he had shown at hearing the original suggestion had disappeared. "You are quite sure, Handel?" he checked, looking up at me through his thick eyelashes. "That is, I should not wish to make you uncomfortable in anyway."

I nodded again, and patted the place beside me on the bed invitingly. "Likewise," I said. "I do not wish to make _you_ uncomfortable in any way, and you surely _will_ be if you spend the entire night in that chair."

He looked at me, nodded resolutely, then walked around the bed to the empty space beside me in four quick strides. Then he hesitated one more time, glancing between me and the bad as if to screw up his courage, before peeling back the blankets as if he were unwrapping some sort of delicate, long-anticipated package.

I found it odd, when I recollected the experience later, the minute memories that stuck in my head from the experience. There was the way the blankets atop my chest shifted over ever so slightly as Herbert pulled them back to make room for himself. There way the way the mattress sunk down, ever so slightly, beneath his weight, and how my own body moved to fill the hollow between our bodies. And then he stilled, motionless, with a taut energy radiating out of his bones. I heard, quite clearly, the sound of his breathing, as rapid as I knew my own was.

"Are you comfortable, Herbert?" I asked him.

"Yes—quite—" he assured me. "Thank you."

I nodded, though of course he could not see me in the dark, and then felt myself trembling. I had never found myself nervous around Herbert before, he was so familiar as to be no more shocking to me than my own reflection. But his proximity now put a sort of fog over my mind, and I was nearly unaware of what I was doing as I groped about in the dark until my unbound hand found his, and clasped it again. He gasped at my touch, but did not withdraw his fingers.

"I am glad to have you here, Herbert," I said, speaking slowly and stressing each syllable so as to keep the shake out of my voice.

I heard him shift in the dark to face me. "I am happy to be here," he whispered. And quite suddenly I felt him lift our joined hands, and bring them to rest at my waist. The back of his palm lay on the bare patch of skin between my shirt and pants. I felt the hairs on my arms jump to attention at his touch.

"I am happy you are alright, Handel," he whispered. "I—I quite love you, you know." And then he shifted forward slightly, and pressed his lips against my forehead.

I felt my face grow hot—I felt _all_ of me grow hot and red, a comfortable sort of glowing settle in the pit of my chest. I felt as if I were trapped in the sort of happy delirium that comes with a high fever, as I said, "I love you as well, dearest," and leaned forward and pressed my lips against his own.

He inhaled sharply, but did not cringe away—indeed, he brought his free hand up to touch the side of my face.

We must not have remained long like that, but it felt to me like it must have been minutes—hours—days. Then at once, we both drew back. His hand, which was still at my face, brushed lightly over my cheekbone.

"I think we shall sleep well tonight," he told me, his voice uneven and unsteady.

I interwove my fingers with his, and pressed his hand ever so slightly against my waist.

"I think we shall," I echoed in agreement.

**So? What did you think? All reviewers recieve...um, cookies. Or shoes, your choice. Or, if you're REALLY lucky, cookies shaped like shoes.**


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